


She’s Giving Me A Wake Up Call

by lizook12



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1648901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizook12/pseuds/lizook12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should wake her, he really should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She’s Giving Me A Wake Up Call

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to **effie214** for the prompt (which is one of my very favorite tropes/scenarios) and **itsalwaysfour** for helping me figure out how to make it work for these two idiots.
> 
> Title found in Kenny Chesney's _Live A Little_.

“Felicity?” He bangs on the door separating their rooms a third time, turns his head to glance back at the small single in the middle of the floor.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was a child’s bed.

“Felic—”

“What?” The door flies open and he almost falls into her, just managing to grab the door frame at the last second. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me the time table got moved up or that the meeting was changed from tomorrow afternoon to tonight; I _just_ put my pjs on.”

He looks down, hand flexing on the wall as he realizes she has. A loose fitting concert tee and low slung pants with pandas dotted all over them have never looked sexier.

Shaking the thought from his head, he steps into her room. “They only gave me a single; my feet actually hang over the end.”

“Oh.” She leans into his room and then turns back to him, starting for her bag, which sits near the edge of her bed, partially unpacked. “Well, we’ll just switch then. I just have to grab—”

“We’re not switching.”

“Why not? I’m shorter than you and it’s just for one night. Sure, I might roll off the side—that is a _really_ narrow bed—but I can make do.”

“Nope.” Walking around her, he slams the door between the rooms shut. “Not happening.”

“Fine, I can sleep on the pull...” The look he shoots her quells any further offer and she shakes her head, picking up her book once more as he starts taking the cushions off the couch to convert it into a bed.

“Yeah, this will be fine. I’m just going to grab my bag and call for a pizza?”

“Yes, I’m starving.”

It takes about fifteen minutes, but soon the bed is dipping beside her, his shoes flying across the room. “Do you mind? The light’s better over here.” He gestures to the pile of papers in his hand.

“Mhmm.”

Her mouth smirks as she pushes further down on the mattress, toes curling against the blanket, and he wonders just how easily she can see through him.

Because it’s not a lie, the light is better over here, but he’d also read through these reports at least five times on the flight out.

There’s just something about sharing some quiet time with her, being in the same space, that he can’t deny himself anymore.

And heaven knows he’d tried.

Flicking the TV on and turning the sound down low, he turns to tell her when the food should arrive and finds her eyes slipping shut, her book wavering in her hands.

The next second her head is on his shoulder, soft breaths caressing his skin.

He should wake her, he really should.

Her sleep schedule might be completely fucked if he doesn’t and yet...

He can’t bring himself to do it.

She looks so relaxed, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips, fingers splayed over the top of his thigh.

Inhaling slowly, he presses his lips together, begins paging through reports in front of him, but none of them make sense.

All he can focus on is her weight against him, the warmth that—

A buzzer sounds in the hockey game and she jolts against him, book flying from the bed as she sits up.

“What? Did I... Oh god, Oliver, I’m sorry.” She turns, running her hand through her hair as her brow furrows in confusion. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. On you, no less. I mean, not that you don’t make a comfortable pillow or anything. And that sounds wrong because it makes it sound like you’re all soft or flabby and you definitely are _not_ , but...” Her fingers toy with the bottom of her top, jaw clenching as she blows out a breath. “We just left so early and I didn’t sleep at all on the plane, but that’s really no reason—”

“Felicity.” He smiles, hopes to hell it doesn’t look like the grin it feels like. “It’s no big deal.” 

“...really embarrassing. I didn’t snore, did I? I know sometimes when I’m exhausted I make this little wheezing noise...”

It takes everything he has not to pull her to him, to tell her he’d be more than ok with that. Instead, he rubs the back of his neck, leans against the headboard.  

“Hey, it’s really ok.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok.” She sighs, shoulders relaxing, eyes finally meeting his as she grabs her book and settles next to him once again.

Everything feels normal—comfortable—for the next half hour, both of them lost in their reading, the soft background noise of the television drifting through the air as they easily move around one another to reach for a notepad or glass to fill with water.

The pizza arrives then and they decide to forgo any remaining formality and eat it on the bed, legs tucked up under them as Felicity scrolls through the channels, looking for something decent to watch.

“ _Anchorman_?”

“Saw it.” He grabs the last slice, setting the empty box on the floor.

“ _Sound of Music_?” 

“Not in the mood.”

She laughs at that, head tilting back, eyes drifting closed, and suddenly he feels like if he can just keep making her do that—making her relax and smile—then he’ll have gotten something besides carrying a bow right.

Hell, if he wasn’t concerned he’d embarrass himself by humming along to the music, he’d tell her to leave it on.

Instead he waits until she hits _Iron Man 2_ and then nods, shifting down the bed as she sets her plate on the nightstand, slides her feet under the covers.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“Hmm?” He turns on his elbow.

“About driving race cars or any other ridiculously dangerous hobbies. It’s bad enough you can fly a plane.”

“Hey, if the pilot had—”

“That stewardess was just trying to get you alone.”

“Yeah, well, there’s only one person I want to be alone with these days.” Their eyes meet and hold and then he’s turning back to the movie, fingers nervously rubbing together as the corner of her mouth tips up.

Before he realizes it, she’s asleep again. He shuts off the TV, fully intending to move to the couch, but maybe if he runs over his remarks for tomorrow one more time...

He’s out before he starts the second paragraph.

(The next morning he wakes first, watches the soft sunlight dance across her pale skin, play in the hair spread over her pillowcase, which...

He seems to be sharing.

Their bodies are turned towards each other, feet tangled together.

Yep, he could definitely get used to this.)


End file.
